


Like A Withering Rose

by Lululeigh



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Angst, Blood, Character Death, F/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-15 21:48:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2244549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lululeigh/pseuds/Lululeigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Eternity within your grasp<br/>My plea? To undo the clasp<br/>Let Desire wash away<br/>Tomorrow and yesterday<br/>Every other thought and dream<br/>Meaningless I make them seem<br/>Had you let the floodgates go<br/>Oh, what pleasure you would know<br/>But you let the moment pass" <br/>-Eileen Manassian; You Let the Moment Pass</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like A Withering Rose

**Author's Note:**

> After two days of fluff, I just needed to request some angst. Sorry guys, but it's a sad one! Grab your tissues and enjoy!   
> Brought to you by Maddy: http://mythetic.tumblr.com/

"Grell Sutcliff: field worker under the London Division, guilty of all charges of tampering with evidence, killing humans not on the to-die list, and treason. Sentencing: death by lethal injection of grey metal, to be preformed on the 12th of January at promptly 8:00 PM. Records will be taken to the library following reaping, and the body will be disposed of accordingly. Any further questions regarding this sentencing and timeframe can be taken up with the Judicial Branch of the dispatch, during operating hours."

The memo that was placed upon his desk was one that he had dreaded seeing for the past week. It was wrenching, and what made it worse was that the words were scribbled across the page as if it were an afterthought, as if her life was an afterthought. 

He was angry with her, of course. No, he was livid. The sheer thought that she would go and play around with a mortal, slicing and dicing her way through London while he had absolutely no idea where she was made him boil. If he hadn't calmed himself before going to get her; if he hadn't taken a few deep breaths before jumping from that rooftop, he could've killed her then and there, doing the duty for that disgusting demon better than he could have. Or, less messy, at least. 

Messy. He looked upon the suspended red chainsaw, glaring with clenched fists as he felt himself get past a point he could control. Seeing Grell, battered and bruised and aching was enough to blame himself; guilt was the only outlet through which his emotions could thrive. Why hadn't he helped her? He knew she was mad, wonderfully and absolutely insane. If he had been smarter, he could've kept a closer eye on her, he could've offered her some advice, he could've not been so angry and cold with her merely because he felt something for her that he hadn't encountered before and it made him angry that she, of all people, could change him like that. 

It was all a mess, and now, she was going to pay for it. One last day before Grell was sentenced to the grave, one last day to possibly admit the gnawing feeling inside of him. At this point, he couldn't save her. He had pleaded with the higher-ups enough; he had asked for pension time, for solitary confinement. Hell, he had risked his own life and job so that Grell Sutcliff could have a chance, even after all the mistakes she had made. 

It was his fault, if only he had been more convincing, if only he had worded something differently, then he would be going downstairs to tell Grell she was going to be released instead of killed. 

And, he hadn't realised he was crying. 

Suddenly, his sadness turned into anger yet again. He was not a man of emotion, the only time he had nearly shed a tear was during the death of his mother. And now, he was sitting in his office, hunched over in the office chair with years streaming down his face, his leather clad hands gripping at his hair as if to offer some sort of relief from all these..feelings. 

She was the only one who could do these things to him, to make him feel completely out of control, and he hated it. 

Thunder echoed across the sky outside as the rain fell with an intensity he hadn't seen in the years he was employed at the London Dispatch. Perhaps it was a sign; a reminder that someone with so much life and energy was going to be taken from the world with a mere needle. It was not how she deserved to go out. No, she deserved a bloodbath, a tragedy. Something like in those awful stories she would read him when they were younger. The ones with the couple, doomed to die in a sacrifice of love. She loved those stories, and he recalled the early mornings in which he would wake up in a cold sweat, and be lulled back to sleep with her voice, reading him a few chapters from those Shakespeare tales. 

 

~~~  
" Methought I heard a voice cry "Sleep no more!  
Macbeth does murder sleep," the innocent sleep,  
Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleave of care,  
The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath,  
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course,  
Chief nourisher in life's feast— "

"Grell."

"I'm in the middle of a soliloquy here, William!"

"This isn't helping me."

"Like hell it isn't. You know we have that exam tomorrow in practical skills, you need your rest."

"And you babbling on about murder and nature's feast is going to help me relax?"

"It always has before~"

~~~

The falling out that they had halfway through the last semester was one he would not forget. She had risked both of their careers; nearly sent them both to the infirmary after angering a nest of demon fledglings one night out in London. The fact that they were roommates did nothing to reduce the anger William felt towards her, and the words he had spoken to her that night were enough to make her hate him, and they were mortal enemies up until their final exam. 

After passing, however, they returned to being silently there for each other, as awful as their relationship may have seemed. 

Dwelling on the past was not going to help his mood, however. He had to go see her, he had to tell her she was going to die, and he had to prepare himself for what he would have to deal with. Pushing his glasses out of the way, he rubbed at his eyes for a moment, discarding any fact of emotion before standing up, shoving the memo into his pocket, and placing his glasses upon the bridge of his nose again. 

\----------------

If it wasn't for the tuft of red hair, he wouldn't have known it was her. 

Peering through the dirty bars of a rusty jail cell, he could only make out a dark figure in the corner of the room, her knees brought up to her chest in a childlike position, her green eyes glowing slightly in the darkness of the room. She was shaking, she was bleeding, and she was not the Grell that he had grown up with. With fidgeting hands and a shaky voice, Grell looked over to William, her eyes darting all over the room as if something was nerving her. 

"Why are you here?"

She spoke quickly and shallowly, her voice missing that high pitched, playful tone. 

"I have...news."

Grell slowly began to get up, her skin becoming more pale and noticeable as she inched closer to the bars. Blood stained her skin, and it caked over her wounds, only contrasting to her nearly grey complexion. She had no makeup on, and he was able to see the auburn lashes and light freckles against her skin as she came closer to him. It was all so nostalgic, he only recalled those freckles from the one time she was on top of him, leaning down, pressing her lips- 

A small groan of pain escaped her, jarring William from his own memories as she leaned against the bars, her legs shaking from exhaustion and lack of energy. Seeing her in such a state was nerving; she was normally such a prideful, strong creature. 

"Talk before I pass out. Talk to me."

Noting her frantic, heavy breathing and her shaking hands against the metal bars, he cleared his throat slightly. This was not something he had prepared himself to do, not something that he had ever wished to do. 

"I received a message from the higher powers.."

She nodded slightly, her hand tightening on the bar. The rust and metal cut her hand slightly, and he watched as the blood dripped down the rod, before splattering onto the floor. Grell didn't pay a bit of kind, instead closing her eyes slightly as she braced herself for the news. 

"...they sentenced you to death, Grell. I tried everything I could, I swear it."

Watching her reaction intently, he was quite surprised at what she did. Laughter filled the room; maniacal, psychotic, laughter. Her eyes opened again, and she was covering her face slightly with her bloodied hand, her entire body shaking from the sheer intensity of her giggling. 

"Oh, why did I not see this coming. They're finally getting rid of me, William! You won't have to worry about me bothering you anymore! They all hate me, you see~ Grell Sutcliff, laughing stock of the dispatch. I bet you'll all throw a party, hm? Do invite all of those whores from general affairs, I know they'll have quite a go at my death. You too, William! You hated me, remember? All those times I gave up my life to have you, you still ignored me! Excluding that one New Years, but you were awful drunk and then kicked me out that night. Bastard~"

Laughing once more, she slowly sunk to the ground, pulling her knees back up to her chest and pressing her forehead against her legs. 

William was speechless, for he knew that she was doing this so that she would not cry, so that she would not look weak. Grell Sutcliff refused to look anything different than how she saw herself, and William had learned to live with that. 

"When is it, darling? When are you finally going to be free of me?~"

He paused. He had to keep his composure, he had to keep calm. 

"Tomorrow at 8. It's a lethal injection, it won't hurt."

"Let it hurt!"

She screeched, looking up to William with suddenly watery eyes and a fearful expression. She was no longer laughing; no. She was shaking, scared, terrified that her demise was approaching. And, he could not blame her. He was just as afraid.

"Let it hurt, William. How dare they give me such a mundane death. I do not deserve that, no! I want to die. I want to experience death how I imagined it, how I did to those women! I can't die like that, no, no-"

"Grell."

Shuddering and sobbing now, Grell was curled into a small mound of red, losing control of what she had envisioned herself to be. In this moment, she was weak, she was vulnerable, and she was crying in front of someone who she loved. 

Unacceptable. 

"I'm going to die. I'm going to die, William. I can't..please. Kill me. Kill me now. I'm not dying on a medical table. Please."

He figured she would ask this; he figured she would want something more than a needle and an injection. Being open to it was one thing, having to kill her was another.

Kneeling down next to her figure, he reached out, placing a hand on her thigh as if to offer some sort of remorse for what she had done. Grell was still shaking, regardless, and only looked up at William for a second to calm herself. If she was going to die, it was going to be by his hand. 

"Are you sure you want me to do this, Grell?"

Grabbing him by the tie through the prison bars, she kissed him hard and thoroughly, not minding the fact that his scythe was in his hand, ready and aimed at her chest. He did nothing to stop the kiss, either. If anything, it gave him a chance to think, to remember how Grell had impacted his life, and how she was going to impact it once she was gone. 

Their kissing was rough and messy, and it was far too late for them to agree that they were meant to be together, meant to be there for one another, through sickness and in health, and until death do them part. 

Once they broke apart, she smiled yet again, her Cheshire grin only brightening her features, and she looked like the monster he had fallen in love with. 

"Make it hurt."

And he did.


End file.
